The expression of this seemingly reasonable wish the young lady treated with scorn.
"Don't be silly, dad! What does it matter? Especially when there's Dorothy Gilbert actually standing on our lawn! Dorothy Gilbert, where have you tumbled from?"
"Excuse me, sir, if we've taken much paint off your boat; but if you'll kindly have it put right, and will send the bill to my daughter, who's at present suffering from one of her periodical attacks, I've no doubt she'll be glad to see it settled--she's supposed to be steering us, and this is the way she does it."
"Dad!--how can you?" The young lady had all at once discovered, to her confusion, that these remarks were addressed to two young men who were in a skiff with which their own craft had nearly come into collision. "If you or Jim will row I'll take you in." Presently the boat was brought along to some steps which Dorothy had not previously noticed, but which she now saw led to the lawn. The young man stepped ashore, with the painter in his hand; and was followed by the young lady, who sprang up the steps, two at a time, and rushed to where Dorothy was standing, exclaiming as she went: "Dorothy! Dorothy! my darling child, have you tumbled from the skies?"
And, almost before she knew it, Dorothy found herself in the arms, and submitting to the caresses, of the vision in blue.
"Why," she said, when at last she had a chance to speak, "do you know, I didn't know you; you look so different."
"Different from what?"
"Different--from what you looked at the convent."
"The convent? My dear!--I should hope I do! How we all looked at that silly old convent! But, tell me, how do I look?--really?--that miserable Jim just said I looked a perfect fright."
"I was just thinking how lovely that girl in the boat did look; and--she turned out to be you."